


Wasted Talents

by sweetbutterbliss



Category: Inception (2010), UnREAL (TV)
Genre: Arthur is Rachel, Crossover, First Meetings, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Arthur, Pining, Pining Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: Arthur truly couldn't imagine his life getting any worse. There wasn't room for him on the seats so he was laying on his back on a filthy limo carpet, trying his best not to get kicked by several pretty women in heels, headed toward a job he vowed to quit every year."Are we there yet? I have to pee," a dark haired girl leaned over to look at him, her glass dribbling Champagne precariously near his face."Almost. Would anyone like to hear about the suitor?" he asked, forcing a cheerful tone and wincing at their resulting squeals. He held up a head shot, allowing them to snatch it from him."Reginald Connor Eames the Fifth; heir to the PG Tips fortune. He's told me personally that he cannot wait to meet you all, ladies."That was a blatant lie. He hadn't even met the guy yet, but after eight years he knew well enough to speak for them. They were all the same smarmy, rich asshole.He let his head thump back against the floor and watched the night sky whiz past through the moon roof, hoping this year wouldn't be the same shitshow of every other year.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flosculatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/gifts).



> beta'd by [Heather](http://haveyoumethoward.tumblr.com)
> 
> Written for [flosculatory](http://flosculatory.tumblr.com/) who gave me the prompt Reality TV. When I saw it I knew Arthur would make a fantastic Rachel. Fantastic at his job and a little ruthless. I hope you like it! And Happy Valentine's Day!

Arthur truly couldn't imagine his life getting any worse. There wasn't room for him on the seats so he was laying on his back on a filthy limo carpet, trying his best not to get kicked by several pretty women in heels, headed toward a job he vowed to quit every year.

"Are we there yet? I have to pee," a dark haired girl leaned over to look at him, her glass dribbling Champagne precariously near his face.

"Almost. Would anyone like to hear about the suitor?" he asked, forcing a cheerful tone and wincing at their resulting squeals. He held up a head shot, allowing them to snatch it from him.

"Reginald Connor Eames the Fifth; heir to the PG Tips fortune. He's told me personally that he cannot wait to meet you all, ladies."

That was a blatant lie. He hadn't even met the guy yet, but after eight years he knew well enough to speak for them. They were all the same smarmy, rich asshole.

He let his head thump back against the floor and watched the night sky whiz past through the moon roof, hoping this year wouldn't be the same shitshow of every other year.

***

People were scurrying back and forth across the set, setting up lights at the perfect angles. An assistant with a perpetually harassed look took the coats from the eight women standing in line, and demanded that they didn't shiver on camera.

Despite the fact that they were all wearing differing tacky gowns, they somehow managed to all look exactly the same. Arthur smiled to himself remembering that this year would be a little different after all. 

"I think he might possibly be even more orange than last year," Jay, a fellow production assistant, elbowed Arthur in the ribs, pointing at their host, Graham.

Arthur smothered a laugh when they called for action. The cameras swung in and did a sweep of the girls, before turning to Graham on a raised dais.

"Welcome to Everlasting. Tonight, I invite you to come with me on a journey of love. Tonight, as always, we are here to help find one man true love. But wait..." he paused and held up a finger, "...this year will be a little different."

At that, eight men moved onto the set and lined up beside the women; all cookie cutter handsome, wearing black or grey suits except for the one who wore a god awful blue suit and contrasting yellow tie. Arthur rolled his eyes and pretended to gag.

"This year we're making history. We bring you our first ever bisexual suitor. This season they will choose one lucky lady...or gentleman, to spend the rest of their life with."

The women, for the most part, only looked confused but a few allowed a mildly horrified expression to cross their faces, and Arthur made a mental note to get sound bites from those ones later. One good ignorant comment always made the perfect teaser.

At that, the suitor walked out and beamed at everyone, his white but slightly crooked smile on full display. He was probably the hottest suitor they'd had, despite the salmon colored shirt and wide lapel suit coat he'd chosen to wear.

"Who chose his wardrobe?" Arthur muttered.

"He insisted on wearing his own," Jay shrugged.

"Ugh. My eyes hurt."

"I'm so very pleased to get to know you all. And please, call me Eames. Reginald is my father." 

Arthur shifted a little. Eames' voice was gravely deep, but somehow he remained soft spoken, and it sent shivers down Arthur's spine. He'd never been attracted to a suitor before, so he wasn't too worried about it, because he'd inevitably turn out to be a dick, just like all the others.

***

It was two days in before he got a chance to find out. He hadn't met him at all until he literally fell over him while trying to quickly eat a sandwich without being interrupted for the first time all day. He was iding behind a building with his ear piece dangling hooked over his ear. He'd just squatted down to pick up the empty wrapper as a heavy body slammed into him and they were both tumbling over onto the pavement. Eames was the first to recover, propping himself up and shaking his head.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't see you skulking on the floor there."

Arthur stood up and brushed his pants down with sharp angry movements. "I wasn't 'skulking'," he huffed.

Eames stayed where he was on the ground, bending his legs up and resting his forearms across them. "Sorry. Creeping behind a building."

"I wasn't...never mind. I have to go."

"Oh. No stay, love. I could use the company of someone not covered in fake tan to be honest."

Arthur smiled a little and fiddled with his ear piece before shrugging and sitting down cross legged beside him.

"Arthur," he held out a hand to Eames.

"I'm sure you know who I am then," Eames shook his hand in a tight grip. Up close he was even prettier and frankly made Arthur's mouth feel a little dry.

"Yeah. The Suitor," he made jazz hands at Eames.

"That's me. I'm supposed to be on some dull 'date' with another simpering fake."

"Oh I know. It's so hard for you. Getting fawned over and having your every need met. Such a hardship for you, I'm really sorry," Arthur rolled his eyes so hard his whole head moved with it.

"Yes. Well. I've heard all about you. They send you in to get the dirt. The really juicy soundbites, eh?"

Arthur shrugged, "Maybe that's what I'm doing now."

Eames' eyes widened and he whipped his head around, searching for evidence. He turned back and let out a laugh when he realized there weren't any cameras on them.

"Hazards of the gig, hmmm?" Eames leaned back to dig around in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking it in Arthur's direction. Arthur only hesitated for a moment before pulling one out.

Eames leaned in to light Arthur's first, lingering much too close, before Arthur forced himself to pull back. He didn't smoke often any more and the heady rush of the first drag made him feel a little dizzy. Sighing and leaning back against the sun baked wall, he closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sun.

"You're beautiful when you're still, you know."

Arthur opened one eye to find Eames staring at him, puffing and talking around his cigarette at the same time. 

"Pht. Save it for the contestants. But make sure to say it just like that," he attempted an English accent. "When you're still."

Eames looked at him in horror. "First of all, it was meant for _you_ ; and second, that is _not_ how I sound."

"Like you could do so much better at mine," Arthur felt his cheeks flush at the compliment but ignored it regardless. 

"I need eyes on the suitor. Can camera one stop fucking around filming asses and do their job?" the words were leaving Eames' mouth, but it was a note perfect mimicry of their director, Quinn, right down to her clipped tones and American accent.

"That's amazing. Do me?"

"Oh no, love. I couldn't hope to copy perfection."

"That was a terrible line," Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Darling, you wound me," Eames pressed a hand to his heart. "Maybe you can make it better?"

He leaned in with his mouth puckered, only for Arthur to shove a hand in his face. "You're incorrigible."

"So I've heard."

They spent a quiet moment grinning at each other, only to have it interrupted by an assistant's pounding feet coming around the corner. She leaned over to catch her breath and panted out that Quinn was looking for the both of them.

Arthur nodded sternly and jumped to his feet before hurrying off, not sparing Eames a backwards glance, knowing that if he did, he might just have stayed.

***

Arthur scowled as he banged on the door of Eames room. Shooting was done for the day and he was ready to go back to his tiny apartment and fall face forward into bed, but he'd been summoned.

The door swung open and he pushed it forward with his foot, poking his head into the room. Eames was shirtless and hanging off a bar wedged in the doorway of the bathroom and pulling himself up over and over with a repeated soft grunt. Arthur truly considered just shutting the door and leaving, but he rallied and stepped inside.

"Darling!" Eames dropped down and pulled a towel off the dresser, mopping at his face and chest.

"What do you need?"

"I have a complaint. My laundry's been washed in some God awful flowery detergent and it's minging. I can't wear it," he turned around and bent down to drop to the floor, his basketball shorts sliding down to reveal dimples right above his ass, making Arthur gulp. 

Eames began doing push ups while still complaining but Arthur struggled to hear anything but his own breathing and a dull buzzing at the back of his head.

"Arthur? My perfect little cupcake? Pay attention, please," he grumbled.

"I'm not your fucking cupcake! I'm also not your assistant. I'm a producer. This isn't my job."

Eames stood and pushed out his lower lip. "I feel used, poppet."

"You _are_ being used, Eames! You're my trained monkey that jumps when I say jump. "

"That was rude," Eames huffed.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, a blunt refusal to look at the way Eames' chest heaved up and down. "I'm truly sorry. Now, please, have someone else do your dirty work."

"I'd love for you to do my dirty work," Eames quirked his eyebrows and smirked, right before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and tugging them off, revealing his lack of underwear.

"Oh my God," Arthur pressed himself back against the door and scrambled for the doorknob, somehow unable to look away.

Eames stalked toward him and Arthur did his best to look him in the eyes, and only the eyes. Suddenly in Arthur's space, he smelled like clean sweat and cigarette smoke. Now close enough to touch, Arthur's heart hammered in his chest as Eames leaned forward and grabbed a towel that was hanging off the bedpost. He deflated as Eames turned away with another smirk.

"I'm off to have a shower then. Good night!"

"Fucking asshole," Arthur mumbled as he finally let himself out. He scowled the whole way home but only made it all of two minutes in the shower before he wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked it to the thought of a sweaty, naked Eames.

***

Arthur was looking for another place to hide and eat his lunch; ducking into the costume trailer and shoving a handful of fries into his mouth, he realized he wasn't alone. Hearing whispering and moans, he shuffled back to get a better view over the racks, only to see Eames standing in the very back, his head tipped back and mouth hanging open.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and bent his knees a little to see one of the contestants, Anthony (of the hideous blue suit), on his knees in front of Eames.

"Excuse me. Didn't mean to interrupt!" he said far too loud and shoved more fries in his face before walking out and letting the door slam behind him. His stomach flipped, and he felt utterly stupid, but at least this would help eradicate his growing crush. But he had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be that easy. Not longer hungry, he dropped his paper plate into the nearest trash, and returned to work.

***

Arthur braced himself before knocking on Eames' door, hoping to God he was alone and maybe wearing a shirt.

He heard shuffling and Eames opened the door fully dressed, much to Arthur's relief. Eames gestured for him to come in but Arthur didn't budge.

"Arthur. Do please come in. I've missed you terribly," Arthur rolled his eyes and stepped inside.

"What do you need, Reginald?"

"Don't be like that, poppet. You've been avoiding me."

Arthur didn't respond because, frankly, it was true.

"Are you cross with me?"

"Why would I be?" Arthur lifted his arms wide and dropped them down again. "Why should I care if you want to canoodle with some twink slut who can't even dress himself? Not my business."

"It was a fair bit more than canoodling."

"I know," Arthur snapped and leaned against the foot of the bed. "Either way it's none of my business. But, you know you'll have to cut him eventually."

"Why?" Eames hadn't made a move to come closer or touch him, but there was an energy about him, as though he was waiting for his moment.

"Sluts get cut. It's as simple as that. America doesn't want you to be with someone you can't take home to your dear old 'mum.'"

"I believe we discussed your atrocious butchering of my accent."

Arthur wanted to smile back but he forced it down.

"I think I know the problem here," Eames circled the air with a finger.

"Oh yeah. What's that?"

"You're jealous."

Arthur scoffed but felt his ears turn red anyway. 

"You know you're the only one for me, poppet. But you continue to spurn my affections, so I'll have to spend them elsewhere."

"Yeah. Down Anthony's throat apparently," Arthur muttered, shocked when Eames laughed.

"Oh you're very nasty, Arthur. I like this side of you."

Before he could respond, Eames finally moved, pushing Arthur further onto the bed so his toes couldn't reach the floor and he was being held up by his elbows.

"What are you doing?" Arthur's voice cracked.

"As much as I adore the way your cheeks get all red in your jealous strop, I'd much rather just prove my affections to you."

With quick hands he had Arthur's belt unbuttoned, and in one swift move pulled it all down and off, leaving him bare. His cock was already starting to plump, laying heavy against his thigh, and he felt unable to form any kind of rational thought, so he just gaped as Eames crawled onto the bed to hover over his lower half. His mouth was so close that Arthur could feel the breath on his skin.

"Spread your legs," Eames demanded, and Arthur moaned helplessly as he pushed his legs apart.

Eames pushed them a bit further and looked up at Arthur through his lashes. "I told you, you're beautiful when you're still."

Arthur shuddered and suddenly found his voice. "Wait."

"Arthur. Now really, let's stop pretending we both don't want this," Eames glared at him.

"I just want to kiss you first."

Eames' face softened in surprise. "Well, alright then."

It started out just a press of lips until Eames dropped his weight to cover Arthur's body and he opened his mouth in a moan. Eames took advantage and slipped his tongue in, and then the only sound in the room was them kissing and stopping to pant.

"Is that satisfactory?" Eames pulled back with a loud smacking sound. "I believe you rudely interrupted me."

"Oh sorry. By all means," Arthur pushed at Eames' head and he goes with it, laughing.

"I imagine we don't have much time, what with the lack of privacy and all that."

"Fuck!" Arthur sat up, nearly elbowing Eames in the face. "I forgot about the cameras!"

"Don't worry. I have them covered. I thought ahead."

"Are you sure?"

Eames just pushed Arthur back down to the mattress and kept a warm hand pressed to his chest during the whole thing, making Arthur feel immediately grounded and relaxed. Eames' mouth was hot and wet, and he didn't waste any time teasing, just swallowed Arthur's dick down immediately, using his tongue and resting a finger tip against his hole; not entering but pushing against it.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time Arthur moaned out a warning and pulled at Eames' hair, only for Eames to lift up and look at him, right as Arthur came all over his face.

"Oh dear," Eames' eyes were wide and his mouth was slack with surprise.

The look on his face is comical and Arthur suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. Eames merely watched him for a minute, before using the comforter to wipe his face off and crawling up the bed to flop down beside Arthur.

"I'm sorry," Arthur hid his face once his laughter faded into just a few uncontrollable giggles here and there.

"Don't be. It's a treat to see you laugh."

"Not a lot of reason around here."

"Too busy stirring up the hornet's nest for the camera," Eames poked him in the side.

"Do you want me to?" Arthur gestured vaguely at Eames who remained fully clothed.

"Next time. You look entirely too relaxed to move."

"Good. I really don't want to move," he reached a hand out and pet absently at Eames bicep. "Next time?"

"Oh yes. Many, many times after that too," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Arthur's smiling mouth.

***

There was a next time. And a time after that, and after that. In fact, it became the highlight of Arthur's day. He spent most of the day and night picking fights with contestants and then steering them towards each other. And watching Eames be charming and gracious. He was especially nice to the awkward ones who were supposed to be kicked off weeks ago, but Eames never listened to any of the producer's suggestions. He'd gotten rid of the bitchy ones right away, and Anthony, which Arthur refused to admit he was happy about.

It'd probably be the worst season ratings they ever had despite the bisexual twist. But it was great watching Quinn pull her hair out and berate everyone.

"How am I supposed to make a show without any bitches?"

And then he'd escape to Eames room. They didn't always have sex. Sometimes they just talked and Eames attempted to teach him card tricks, but Arthur was an abysmal failure at it.

"You have to have imagination, darling."

"I don't see what 'imagination' has to do with it. It's not like it's actual magic," he flipped the card at Eames' chest.

"Hard day?"

"Quinn's breathing down my neck. It's like I get one second of happiness, and she has to strangle it out of me."

"I make you happy?"

Arthur kicked him, but didn't bother to respond, only smiling down at the floor.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you quit?"

"Because I'm fucking good at it."

"That's true. You're brilliant."

"So what other job would I be able to be as good at?"

Eames hummed and looked away, not answering as he laid the cards out into a solitaire game.

***

They didn't talk about it. About the fact that Eames was meant to propose to someone else, and pretend at least to be getting married. Whoever he chose would go with him on the contracted press tour and Arthur would come to this job with a new suitor and watch the footage from afar.

He spent the week before the finale brooding about that fact; they'd narrowed it down to two women and one man. Quinn had been hinting heavily that they need a wifey. Not a hubby.

She refused to stop calling it that no matter how much Arthur protested.

Eames found him completing his brooding routine in the costume trailer.

"Remembering old times, love?" he joked. But his smile looked forced and he was sweating. "Come outside with me."

The sun was setting; purple and gold streaking across the sky. Arthur inhaled and watched the way the light highlighted Eames' face in gold. Eames didn't say anything for a long minute, busying himself with lighting a cigarette and taking a few deep puffs.

"I have to leave."

Arthur furrowed his brow. "What? There's nothing on the schedule."

"Here. I have to leave the United States, in fact. Tonight."

"Oh," Arthur's chest felt tight and his breath shallow. "You're under contract."

"Sod the bloody contract. Is that all you've got to say?"

"What, you want me to beg you not to leave?" Arthur sneered, trying to hide the way his voice wobbled.

"No," Eames stepped into his space and cupped his face with one hand, "I want you to ask if you can come with me."

"You want me to come with you?"

"I do. So very much. But I need you to make a decision now. I know it's a little barmy, but I'm totally mad for you and can't stand the thought of you wasting away in all this," he waved a hand behind him toward the set.

"Will I be your kept boy?" he meant it sarcastically but it accidentally came out sounding sad and genuine.

"If you like. Or maybe we can find better uses for your unique talents."

"Right," Arthur snorted, but he stopped and truly thought about it for a second. He wasn't sure where Eames was going to take him or how long it'd last, but when he stared back into Eames' wide eyes he realized he didn't actually care. He'd take this, for as long as he could have it.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yes. Let's go."

"Really?!" Eames seemed faintly surprised.

"I could use a vacation anyway. When do we leave?"

"Right now, actually," Eames clasped his hand and started dragging him to the back of the house. "Dreadfully sorry for the subterfuge," he apologized as he led them into a hedge and out the other side.

"What? What about my things?" Arthur had to use his long legs to keep up with Eames trotting pace through the woods. The sun had gone almost completely down and they were making their way through the shadows.

"We can stop at yours. We've got a little time. But you'll have to be quick about it. Here we are."

They came to the road at the bottom of a steep hill and there was a car waiting for them in the gloomy darkness. Arthur didn't know anything about cars, but it looked fast and expensive.

"Your chariot awaits," Eames held the door out for him and waited until he was tucked safely inside before closing it.

***

The road away from the mansion was winding and bends back on itself many times; he kept catches glimpses of the house through the trees. The way it was lit up makes it look like a glowing beacon above the trees, and he'd forgotten about his ear piece until it crackled and he heard Quinn's voice.

"Arthur? Does anyone have eyes on Arthur? I need him immediately!"

Arthur pulled it out of his ear and looked down at it. He could still hear her tinny, demanding voice. Without a word he rolled down the window and threw it and his pack out onto the highway.

"You alright, love?" Eames squeezed his thigh.

"No. But I think I will be."

***

"So you're not the heir to the PGTips fortune?" Arthur gaped at Eames.

"No, not at all. I'm quite positive it's owned by Unilever," he smiled around his beer.

They were sitting in a hole in the wall café in Mombasa, hotter than Arthur had ever been in his life and he'd sweat through all of his clean clothes. But he'd never been happier. Eames speaks the language, and they were sharing a tiny flat above the bar with a much too small bed and a woefully useless air conditioner.

"So, you're not rich then?" Arthur picked at the label on his own bottle.

"I knew it! You _were_ after me for my money," Eames exaggerates a pout. 

"Obviously. Jokes on me though, clearly," he rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his beer.

"I do have quite a bit of money. Don't worry on that account. I just may have earned it in more illegitimate ways than tea. "

"Oh Christ, I've run off and quit my job to live with a criminal. My mom said this would happen if I went to LA."

"Not just any criminal. _The_ criminal. I'm a master," Eames puffed out his chest. 

"Lucky me then. I _do_ get to be your kept woman."

"Oh no, love. I've got big plans for you," he smirked.

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm," he leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "Tell me, love. Have you ever heard of dreamsharing?"

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on [ tumblr.](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


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